


Until You

by Dirty_Corza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Fic, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How John and Sherlock's bathroom changed their lives, once scene at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Woeshh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woeshh/gifts).



> Written for the ever so lovely Woeshh on tumblr, for winning my 200 follower giveaway. Sorry it took so long to finish dear!

John was the only one Sherlock would let touch him. When a case left him bruised, scratched up it was John that led him to the bathroom, John who sat him down on the loo, John who took out their first ad kit and set it on the counter. It was well stocked, bandages, braces, special needles and thread that Sherlock wasn't allowed to touch. It was one of the few rules of John's he followed, leaving the first aid kit alone. It was his nod to John, giving him the permission to do this, to patch him up after a long day's work. Anything to keep from having to go to a hospital.

John's hands were gentle, yet firm, cleaning the gravel from scrapes, pressing cold cloths against bruises to ease the pain. Neither of them broke the silence here. Neither looked the other in the eye. Those were the unspoken rules as clothing was removed from Sherlock's lithe form, as bandages and stitches were placed to hold him together yet again.

\- - -

It was the sound of broken glass that brought Sherlock out of his reverie. The shattering of glass followed by John crying out.

“John?” he pushed himself off the couch, scrambling to get to the bathroom where he was met with a sight he never thought he'd see. John was sobbing, holding onto the counter with bloodied knuckles, the mirror in shards, pieces littering the counter and floor. 

John took a shuddering breath, chin falling to his chest. “I don't- I can't, Sherlock, right now. I can't-” He was silenced by the feel of Sherlock pressing against him from behind, arms gently wrapped around him.

“She didn't mean to, John.” he whispered, “She'll apologize in the morning, I'm sure. It was an accident.”

John huffed out a laugh. “Harry never means to. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when she does.” there was a quick intake of breath, as if he were only just noticing the state of his knuckles. “Sherlock, would you mind getting the tweezers for me? I think... I need your help here.” 

Sherlock gave a nod, “have a seat John.” There was a small smile playing across his lips as John sat and he pulled out the first aid kit. It wasn't often their roles were reversed like this. Every small hiss of pain from John brought a flush to Sherlock's cheeks. Somehow, that made it more intimate, the small noises that broke the silence. But Sherlock pushed that thought aside, carefully clearing all the small bits of glass from John's hands.

\- - -

It was the day John had to completely stitch up his side that Sherlock realized he couldn't live without the man. The feel of gentle hands as they calmed him, the sympathetic hisses with every stitch. Perhaps they should have gone to a hospital for this. Sherlock knew it probably would have been safer, but he didn't want safer. Not when it would mean someone else's hands. Someone not John touching his skin, seeing him vulnerable. 

When John finished and turned to go, Sherlock reached out his hand, grabbing the sleeve of his sweater, “Thank you.” he murmured, eyes downcast.

John gave a small smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “You're welcome, Sherlock. You're welcome.” There was a sad laugh in that phrase, and that gave Sherlock pause, causing him to look up, searching John's face for the tell-tale signs of his emotions. But John was too quick, already turning and ducking around the door, leaving Sherlock in peace.

\- - -

It was Sherlock's fault. When Sherlock had let the man go at him with a knife, did he expect John to stand in the shadows and watch? Of course he had followed after, rushed the man, twisted the knife away with the practiced ease of a trained soldier. He just hadn't expected the bite that quickly followed. 

Thankfully, it hadn't been too deep, but it was high on his arm, an awkward place to reach. That was why Sherlock was here with him, sitting on the bathroom counter with John standing between his legs as he cleaned and bandaged the shallow wound. He flushed, slghtly, as his body leaned closer to Sherlock. He shouldn't have craved the heat against his back like he did. He shouldn't have leaned in a bit closer when Sherlock scooted closer to the edge, he shouldn't have-

“Stop thinking, John.” Sherlock's voice was soft in his ear, tentative or hesitant or... John wasn't sure quite what emotion it was, it wasn't one he had ever heard Sherlock use with conviction.

Slowly, it dawned on him that the bandage was on, Sherlock's hand a pleasant heat resting on the barrier between them. “I'm sorry, I-” He moved to go, but was stopped by a slight squeeze of that hand, a slight pull asking him not to go. “Sherlock?”

“I'm the one who should be sorry. I was reckless again and you... Thank you, John.”

John's breath caught in his throat. There was something there, in Sherlock's voice, he was sure of it. It was just rather a lot to get his mind around. “It was- I couldn't just-” his hand reached for Sherlock's where it rested on his other arm. “I should be thanking you, this time.”

There was a pause before Sherlock pulled him back into an embrace, both arms wrapped around John's chest. “You're welcome, John. You're welcome.”


End file.
